Wednesday 29 April 2015
Rain and cloudy
Had fraught conversation with the Russians on Skype last night - they have still not paid the deposit on the house and the owners are going nuts. Fortunately with being on holiday, I have had my phone switched off, otherwise they would have been ringing me every day. The Russians say yes they will have the money but they dont know when and it is complicated. They say it is coming from their friends in the East. The man says can he tell me a joke and I am thinking no,tell me when you are going to pay in the effing money.
This morning, get an email from the sellers saying that if I dont ring them immediately, they are going to pull the contract. I ring them. They are deeply unhappy and think the Russians are not serious. They ask, again, where the money is coming from and I cant answer them because all the Russians say is that it is from salary and it is complicated. The sellers say that the buyers have until next Tuesday and then they are cancelling. OH manages to find a couple of bird watchers to talk to in the foyer of the hotel. Amazingly, they live in the same road as his brother in the UK.
We have decided to go home early, mainly because of over a week of epic drinking and no sleep, we are exhausted. OH must be the most flatulent man on the planet and he snores all night. I feel one hundred years old. The birds start singing at 6 am. Cats fight in the night. Spaniards dont go to bed until at least 2 am. We were in one bar and there was a couple with a one week old baby and another with a three week old. They didnt leave til ten pm. I have to say, the babies were entranced by the bright lights and no one draped towels over the mothers when they breast fed (glass of wine in hand). Small children tore around the tables and an English guy, grey haired and wearing glasses, posed on a bar stool and tried to hold in his stomach and talk amusingly to his Russian girlfriend who was at least 20 years his junior. Not junior enough to be showing as much leg as she was.
The stranges thing I saw in Trujillo was a shop called Hasta Crisis which had one room devoted to nasty plastic handbags and another to fishing tackle.
We finally leave the hotel at 10.30 and head north. We both feel exhausted and deflated. The satnav says it is 950 kilometres to home. I dont dare sleep because I know OH may nod off at the wheel.
We stop off for lunch at a small hotel restaurant and have a starter of ratatouille with a fried egg plopped on top, kebabs and cold custard with nutmeg. Surprisingly, very good. Onwards we go and then around Madrid which had some interesting architecture and terrifying drivers.
We finally hit the motorway within an hour of being home and find it is closed so rather than trail over the border with the rest of the traffic, OH strikes off into the countryside, despite my telling him that this is a very bad idea and we drive around on tiny roads for an hour and a half before surprisingly finding the motor way and getting home at 11 pm.
|this unbelievably is just a few minutes after all the big buildings|